


An Image of You

by smug_rabbit



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smug_rabbit/pseuds/smug_rabbit
Summary: Kuzuryuu has a lot to make up to Saionji. With Mioda's help, maybe he'll succeed. Spoilers until the start of Chapter 3.





	1. Better Off Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Chapter 3 of SDR2, before the Titty Typhoon party.

A smirking Komaeda sitting atop a pile of coconuts.

Mioda playing her guitar next to the pool. She’s living the rock star tropes: legs split wide, head tossed back, eyes shut, tongue protruding from her mouth.

Hamamura dangling ham over Owari’s face, while one of Tanaka’s hamsters gorges on bok choi under his other arm.

Hinata, fist slammed up against the Rocket Mart’s vending machine, eyes bulging out his head. His arm obscures Souda’s face, the mechanic doubled over as he laughs his guts out.

Koizumi Mahiru really did have an eye for aesthetics.

Kuzuryuu gasped at the next photo. It must’ve been taken on the first day, right before Monokuma’s appearance, where everyone was about to dive into the ocean. Kuzuryuu was standing on the sand, arms folded and pointedly looking away from the festivities. Behind him was his unsmiling secret bodyguard, Pekoyama. Her body was half-turned away from him, as if she was just about to head away.

He wished there was a better photo of them together, but he found nothing in Koizumi’s photos. Even when he was in them - few of them as they were - his snarling visage didn’t make for pleasant viewing. Pekoyama wasn’t smiling in any of the photos either.

Just one of those things he took for granted. He hadn’t bothered to get a photo of himself with Pekoyama in a setting more relaxed than his office at their gang’s hideout.

The silence of the library was broken by footsteps. Kuzuryuu slammed the album shut and dropped it next to his chair. Who the hell would be wandering the library at this time of night?

‘Who’s there?’

‘What do you mean, “who’s there?” How rude.’ Blonde pigtails poked out from behind a bookshelf. ‘It’s just me-’

Saionji Hiyoko’s voice cut off upon seeing him. They stood in silence for a few seconds before she broke it with one of her usual insults.

‘Do something about that eyepatch, you freak. It’s scary.’ She withdrew behind the shelf, though he could still see the top of her pigtail.

‘I can see you.’

‘I know that, you idiot! I’m waiting for you to leave!’

He had to get out, and fast. ‘I didn’t think you were the type to read,’ he muttered, regretting the words as soon as he said them. Didn’t he _just_ promise not to insult people anymore?

She poked her head back out again, slower this time. Apparently she thought he was stupid enough not to notice. Kuzuryuu slammed his seat against the table, startling a squeak out of her. He stomped to the exit, cursing his bad luck. Considering their self-imposed curfew, there was no reason for anyone else to be out this time of night, especially not someone as fragile as her.

‘These are hers, you evil midget rat!’

The Super High-School Level Yakuza stopped in his tracks at Saionji’s shriek. In his hurry to leave, he’d left Koizumi’s photo album behind. Saionji’s sandals clattered behind him, along with her impetuous voice.

‘How dare you think you can - how dare you just go into people’s rooms and steal their stuff! She wouldn’t want anyone else looking at her photos, especially not you!’

Kuzuryuu’s eardrums trembled under the assault of Saionji’s screeching. Even from the library, she was probably loud enough to wake the others up. He made a mental note to apologise if anyone brought it up at breakfast, assuming he’d survive until then.

‘I went into her room because it was already unlocked. Her bookshelf was filled with albums like those.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder without facing her. ‘By the way, I found strange gaps in the shelf.’

It was Saionji’s turn to gasp.

 _Looks like I was right,_ he thought with satisfaction. ‘You’re in no position to be judging me.’

‘Are you accusing m-me of stealing from my best friend? You’re the worst! Her bookshelves always had gaps in them because she hadn’t got enough folder-things,’ she babbled, her eyes wide in phony indignation. ‘I’d never-’

Kuzuryuu was still woozy after getting out of the hospital a day before, it was late, and he was in no mood to be dealing with a snarky girl's crocodile tears. He turned to face her, the arch of the doorway looming far over her tiny head.

‘Cool. Then put that album back for me, since you know her house so goddamn well,’ he snapped. Saionji turned red.

‘I’m not your brainwashed slave of a girlfriend, you murderer!’

Kuzuryuu took a sharp breath of his own. Not because he was trying to intimidate Saionji, but because he was afraid that if he didn’t, he’d forget to stop breathing altogether. Once upon a time, he’d have threatened anybody bringing up a recently-deceased subordinate – no, friend – and he might have had someone carry out his usual threats of decapitation, disembowelment, defenestration, and immolation.

But he couldn’t do that tonight. Not because he didn’t have the means, but because for once, the yelling, the abuse, and intimidation-

 _None of it would make me feel better._ And if Saionji’s whimpering was any indication, he’d frightened her. Not exactly building upon his earlier reconciliation efforts.

‘Sorry. I got carried away.’

At his apology, she hissed, fake tears evidently forgotten: ‘Why were you looking at her photos, anyway?’

‘I wondered if she had any of us. Me and Peko.’ He looked back at Saionji with renewed hope. Maybe she-

‘Don’t look at me with that expectant face. Gross.’

She was lying again, of course. A lifetime of watching yakuza kiss his ring taught him when to spot insincerity: eyes cast downward, repeated clenching and unclenching of fists.

‘I don’t think she ever got a photo of you two together. You know, because you ditched us at every opportunity possible? Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because she didn’t deserve to waste her talent on the likes of you. Even if I did have photos of Pekoyama - which I totally don’t - I’m still not going to share them with you, just because you think cutting your stomach open is a good enough way to say sorry. The others might think making up is _sooooo_ easy, but I’m not that nice!’

Saionji was trying so hard to be convincing, he was almost touched. Kuzuryuu understood, though. Whatever Koizumi had of Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama, he wasn’t getting now. He’d have to find ways to make it up to Saionji, and keep making it up to her until she forgave him.

‘Look after her albums for me, yeah? Until I’m ready to see the rest of her photos again. We can look at them. Together.’

With that, he left a stunned Saionji in the library and slunk back in the direction of his cottage, the memory of her hissed curses following him all the way. But when he got to the hotel, he passed it and kept following the road, letting the island breeze ruffle his hair. It felt comforting. He’d walk all night if he had to, just to get more of that feeling, as well as allowing the waves of the high tide crashing on the beach to drown Saionji’s voice out of his ears.

He walked in circles around the first island. After the first few passes of the supermarket, he stopped counting. Soon, his aching feet were begging for a rest. Sighing all the way, he trudged back to the hotel.

It wasn’t until he was face-to-face with the door that he realised he was outside Ibuki Mioda's room instead. He was barely aware of what he was doing or why, but something in his subconscious told him he was doing the right thing.

The photo of Mioda playing the guitar flashed through his mind again.

'Tribute concert, huh?'

It may have been too late, or it may have been too early in the morning. But Kuzuryuu raised his fist and knocked on her door.


	2. One Note

If Mioda was tired, she didn’t show it. Her eyes were wide and she hopped on one leg to the other like an electrocuted rabbit. She’d even put on all her accessories already, which made him wonder how comfortable she felt sleeping with all those pins in her ear.

‘What? What? What? Fuyuhiko-chan’s here!’

‘May I come in?’ he began to ask, but Mioda was already dragging him into her room.

‘You’re awake! And talking to people! Love the eyepatch, by the way. Stylish!’ She slammed the door behind them and slung the helpless Kuzuryuu onto her bed. He flailed through the air, managing to avoid landing on her guitar or the songsheets strewn across her bed. Once he was certain that it was his head that was still spinning and not his body, he righted himself into a sitting position, legs dangling over her bed. Mioda leapt in next to him, wrapping him up in her doona. He avoided looking directly at her, focusing on his reflection in the bathroom door. The SHSL Yakuza thought he looked comatose.

‘Welcome back to the land of the living, Fuyufuyu,’ she said in a low, dramatic voice. Seeing his unfocused expression, she jabbed him in the ribs, eliciting a yelp and a stiffening of the spine. ‘What’s going on?’

Forcing his eyes away from his reflection to Mioda’s hair buns, he asked, ‘Mioda, about the concert…Are you serious about it?’

She pouted and strummed her guitar. ‘Of course. We have a venue, musicians, and dancers. All we need is an audience.’ She wagged a finger in his face.

‘I'll be there. It’s just that I wanted to make sure you were serious, I mean, I don’t doubt you or anything, but I really want to hold a concert for everyone, and if you need my help in setting it up or anything-’

Mioda cleared her throat, interrupting his rambling. ‘You can sing for us.’

Kuzuryuu cut out the laugh forming in his throat, sounding like a strangled bird. Once he was certain she wasn’t joking, he mumbled. ‘Absolutely not.’

A memory flashed through his head. It was his sister’s tenth birthday at the karaoke bar, and both she and Pekoyama had trouble stifling their giggles at his hopelessly out-of-tune warbling. Natsumi’s laughter was understandable, but the stoic Pekoyama? Unforgivable. The incident damaged him so badly that he didn’t even trust himself to hum songs in public, lest Pekoyama start giggling behind him.

‘Why not, hm?’ She rubbed his head, eliciting a small yelp as he was startled out of his reverie. ‘Fuyuhiko-chan likes to sing, I think.’

‘Whatever makes you think that?’

‘Instinct. No way our Baby Gangsta doesn’t like karaoke.’

‘Don’t call me that! And I’ve never done karaoke in my life!’ Kuzuryuu shouted, as she pinched his cheeks. He made to push her off, but opted to slam a fist into his thigh in frustration instead. ‘Seriously. I couldn’t possibly sing.’ He rubbed his eyes and shrugged off the doona. ‘I should go back to sleep. Thanks for letting me in here, Ibuki-chan,’ he added as he got to his feet. Kuzuryuu strode towards the door. He had to get away, to somewhere which wouldn't remind him of his familial moments with Pekoyama. Anywhere else that wouldn't force him to carry the burdens of his past.

But Mioda's hand was gripping his suit's coat-tails. He yanked on his suit. 'Let me go!'

‘You know, Hajime and Peko got kinda close, right?’

He halted. ‘What about them?’ he asked apprehensively.

‘I overheard them talking a few times.’ She pulled him back down onto the bed. ‘He was asking what her favourite memory of her childhood was, outside of training with that sword. And she said it was the time she went with her best friend to his little sister’s birthday party. Apparently her friend was trying to sing love songs, but he was so out of tune that she couldn’t stop herself. She said it was the first time she’d laughed so hard, and she’d never been able to laugh that hard since.’

Fuyuhiko didn’t say anything.

‘I didn’t realise it at the time, but you were that friend she was talking about.’

‘Yeah.’ It was a whisper.

She cackled in glee, her guitar leaping into the air as she bounced on the bed. The gloom was dispelled by her infectious laugh. ‘I knew it! Soft guys like you love American strawberry pop. Or are you more partial to Japanese bands? Like that one with all the pervert fans…I think they call themselves Sayakers?’

Kuzuryuu’s indignation flared. Most Sayakers were definitely not perverts, and he wanted to yell at Mioda for saying so. But he had an image to maintain. ‘I’m not into prissy shit these days, I swear. I couldn’t tell you any song on the pop charts right now, or any song that has been on a pop chart. Ever.’

Mioda flashed him a gentle, disbelieving smile, and ceased bouncing on the bed. ‘Then what’re you going to sing at the concert?’

He couldn’t bring himself to refute her anymore. ‘You tell me.’

‘Tributes have to come from your heart. I can’t choose them for you.’ She wrapped an arm around him. The SHSL Musician was smiling, but he could also see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. He’d never seen her like this. He wondered if anyone else on the island had.

‘Don’t worry about backing instruments. I can play anything. Tell me what song you want when you're ready. Not now,' she added, raising a painted finger. 'It’s late, and you need to sleep.’ She sounded so serious, so unlike her usual self.

It scared him.

‘I’ve never sung before on a stage,’ he muttered. In the back of his head, he wondered how he’d been suckered into singing at a commemorative concert dedicated to people who sent his heart pounding in guilt every time he thought about them. Even so, if he couldn’t sing in public, embarrassing as he may have found it, how could he even begin to demonstrate his sincerity? It would be far more heartfelt than cutting open his stomach in front of his classmates at breakfast.

‘Sing with me.’ Mioda interrupted his thoughts. She punched him in the shoulder. ‘You’re not getting out of this. You’re singing, and you’re going to do the best damn job you can, because I’ll be training you.’ Seeing that he was spaced out, she added, ‘It’ll be a new and fresh life experience. That’s what school camp is supposed be about, right?’

Kuzuryuu barely registered what she was saying. He was busy ticking through a list of appropriate songs in his head. Sitting on Mioda’s bed, it took less than a minute for him to figure out which one. As he flattered himself over his selection, he felt the sun’s rays peeking over the horizon, illuminating the room and warming him to his heart.  


	3. Camera Flash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Chapter 1 of SDR2.

By Kuzuryuu’s standards, the party was going well. Ibuki performed ear-splitting covers of 90s rock songs, and Saionji danced to Mikan’s triangle. He took special care not to look too closely at Saionji throughout, focusing instead on the other boys. Apparently Komaeda’s smile wasn’t creepy if you knew nothing else about him.

Despite how smoothly everything was running, Kuzuryuu was nervous. He’d spent the last two days memorising the lyrics and practising with Mioda, but he couldn’t shake off fear that he’d choke on stage. That Mioda could stand up on stage in front of everyone and deliver her songs with gusto was an act of God.

Mixed in with his unease was something more malicious. Guilt.

He could only spend a minute alone before he was reminded that Pekoyama wasn’t by his side, and if Koizumi was around, she’d be taking photos of the event. The others weren’t shunning him anymore, which only made him feel guiltier. This was supposed to be his make-up session, his apologia for all the wrong he did on this island, but he couldn’t enjoy socialising. Nor could he bear being alone. Instead, he took solace in his glass bottle, from which he took another swig. Water, of course. Nobody else realised anything was wrong. Why would they? He was stuck in the role the others had gotten used to seeing him play; the gloomy, snarling yakuza. 

Back onstage, Hinata flailed between Saionji and Mikan. Whatever Hinata’s talent was, it sure as hell wasn’t dancing. He looked at his watch. Five minutes before Mioda was due to call on him.

To distract himself, he reached out a hand to the passing Princess Nevermind. She took it, sidling up to him. Waltzing Sonia around the room alleviated some of his distress. No way was he going to match her graceful ballroom dancing, but the goofiness of his clumsy steps made her smile. She got bored soon enough, opting instead to detach herself from him in favour of imitating Hinata’s Drunken Octopus moves, which got the day’s first genuine laugh out of him. As he looked around the room, Nanami’s waving caught his attention. She pointed towards the stage.

Ibuki was gesticulating at him. Evidently, it was his turn to take the stage. Avoiding Souda’s glare, he ended his dance with a bow to Sonia, before clambering up next to Ibuki.

‘Now, I know my adoring fans here can’t get enough of my vocal stylings, but I wanna pass the mic to somebody who’s very graciously volunteered to sing a tribute to all our deceased friends. Please welcome Fuyuhiko-chan to sing The O’Jays’ “Brandy”!’

A whole minute of his life vanished. All he could think about was the lyrics running through his head, interspersed with “run away now” and “why did you agree to this?” The next time he was aware of what he was doing, he was behind the microphone stand, staring out at the stunned faces of his classmates, surprised as he was that the yakuza was about to sing. His throat seized up and his mouth went dry, and it occurred that he should close his mouth lest he be heckled with taunts that he looked like a dead fish. He turned to Mioda for help, but she was already seated at a piano on the far corner of the stage. Catching his eye, she flashed him a thumbs up, and either misreading or ignoring his fearful expression, began to play. Over the notes, he could hear Nidai screaming encouragements from the back of the room.

_Can’t back out now._

The room's murmurs turned to white noise, and Mioda's keyboard was all he could hear. He took the deepest breath he'd ever mustered, and began to sing.

 _'Sittin' by the open fire place in my favorite dungarees,_  
_Played a few balls of a melody, and it sounded sweet to me...'_

He thought of Pekoyama as he warbled on in his shaky, flat, nasally voice, hopelessly out-of-tune and sweating droplets with every quaver. She wasn’t in the audience this time. But she was watching. Somewhere, amidst the stares of his classmates and his quavering voice, he knew she was watching.

 

* * *

* * *

 

It was over before he knew it, and he didn’t think he’d sung so badly by the end. Over the cheers of his classmates, he heard Mioda whispering, ‘You did well, Fuyuhiko. Really, really well.’ He felt her hugging him, and he managed: ‘Thanks, you too,’ before stumbling off-stage, raising a hand to acknowledge his classmates. Their cheers echoed off the walls, amplified to the roar of a football stadium crowd. He never felt so exhilarated or nervous, and yet so damn _satisfied_.

_I did it. I really did it._

 

* * *

* * *

 

Mioda’s voice cracked before she finally agreed to retire for the night.

‘I can clean up. It’s fine,’ Kuzuryuu had said to the others, still elated from his performance.

‘Leave it, Fuyuhiko. We’ll pack it up tomorrow,’ Souda argued. But nobody really wanted to clean up after the party. Killing Game or not, this was still a vacation. If Kuzuryuu was going to pack up, he’d do it alone, which was fine by him.

Kuzuryuu waved the others off. His exhausted classmates dispersed out of the concert hall, back to the hotel. Nanami was already sleepwalking out the door, an exhausted Mioda following behind. She managed to wink at him as she trotted out, guitar over her shoulder. Once the door shut, he rubbed his face clean of his forced smile. If he wore his grimace long enough, maybe his face would be stuck like that forever.

Before he could get off his stool, the door opened again and Saionji slipped back in. She pressed a tiny finger to her lips.

‘I really liked your song. And your singing isn’t bad compared to Nidai’s.’

He nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing else, irritating Saionji. ‘I really enjoyed it,’ she repeated, a little louder. ‘I thought it was a great way to celebrate their lives. Ibuki told me you were the only one who seriously listened to her about holding a concert. Thanks for that.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. All this concert did was remind me that if I hadn’t fallen for Monokuma’s bait, Mahiru and Peko might be alive.’

His voice cracked on the last word, choking back the sob in his throat. The last time he wasted his chance to share a memory with everyone else was on that first day of this accursed trip, when half the class dove into the azure blue Pacific Ocean while he moped around under the coconut trees, as Togami desperately tried to strike up a conversation with him. Tears gathered in Kuzuryuu’s eyes again. Togami tried so hard to make him feel like part of the class.

He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his suit sleeve. He managed a chuckle to himself. Really, it was unbecoming of the heir to a yakuza clan to reflect on the past so often. This place was driving him crazy.

‘God, what a miserable sight you are.’ She scrunched her face and slouched her shoulders in an imitation of his posture.

‘I do _not_ look like that!’

A flicker of anger crossed her features, but she restrained herself with a couple of deep breaths. 

‘Here. I was going to slide this under your door, but since the hardest crime boss in Japan would rather cry alone in an empty concert hall, you can have it now. Promise not to get any tears on it.’

She took a small paper rectangle out from her sleeve. Kuzuryuu watched her with wide eyes. His heart was quaking again.

‘I was actually thinking of chucking it into the ocean or tearing it up, since, you know, you’re in it. But I couldn’t. She’d have wanted all the stuff she took to be preserved in some way. So I thought I’d hide it in the library, where no-one would be able to find it or damage it. Especially you.’

That’s what Saionji was doing that night? He shook his head. That wasn’t the important question.

‘It’s a picture of me, right?’

Saionji held the rectangle out. The repentant gangster reached out to grab it, but she pulled it back before he could lay skin on it.

‘Only if you promise to keep it close to you forever. Mahiru deserves to have her belongings treasured.’ She held it out again. Kuzuryuu took the photo, gently this time.

It was a picture of the class at the beach on the first day, just before Monokuma had appeared. A dash of sand was floating in the air surrounding his foot. It looked as if he'd just kicked a seashell off the sand dune he was walking on. His eyes were downward cast, but there was the smallest hint of a grin on his face. This was taken before he told her to stop interacting with him in order to keep the other’s suspicions down. He hadn’t even noticed that Koizumi had taken this photo. No way would he have been caught smiling in front of anyone else back then.

Next to him was Pekoyama, mouth frozen open, apparently in the middle of talking. What was she saying to him? Considering the half-smile on his face, it must’ve been something amusing. He wracked his brain for the possibilities, but the memory was lost in a haze. Their entrance into Jabberwock Island felt so distant, it might as well have been ten years instead of ten days.

‘How long are you going to stare at it? Geez. She’s already dead, you creep.’

As if it was made of glass, Fuyuhiko kept the photo pinned between his forefinger and thumb. He lowered it to see her glistening eyes.

‘Thanks, Saionji.’

Without missing a beat, she returned to her usual pout, plucking at some fluff on her sleeve. ‘Whatever. Mahiru didn’t have anything else of you. I looked.’

Such a spiteful creature. And yet she gave this to him. Kuzuryuu didn’t know what else to say.

‘She took nice photos. Wish I’d seen more of them.’

Saionji looked to be saying something mean again, but she closed her mouth. Under the moonlight streaming through the windows, illuminating her small figure, she was blushing. The dancer reached into her kimono folds and pulled out the album he’d left behind in the library. ‘You should have this back, if you like them so much.’

Kuzuryuu shook his head. ‘I found what I was looking for. I should’ve returned that album to her earlier.’

Saionji shrugged. ‘Let’s just get out of here before the others realise we’re missing. I don’t want to think about the rumours if we were caught in here together.’

‘Might ruin my reputation,’ he joked. Kuzuryuu gestured for Saionji to leave, cleaning-up duty forgotten.

‘Yeah.’ Saionji smirked and took the lead, satisfied with her efforts. ‘Don’t want your arranged marriage to end over something like this.’

‘Yakuza don’t have arranged marriages. Clan allegiances change quick, so it’s not a great idea,’ he said, following her outside.

‘If you believe that, you’ll never have a happy relationship with anyone,’ she retorted.

‘That’s not how things work in my life. Loyalty is secured by money, not marriage ties.’

They argued back and forth about nonsense all the way back to the hotel. He remembered his first impressions of Saionji, an unpleasant brat who shut down all attempts at civil conversation through insult. Here she was, trying her hardest to continue one with him. And here he was, trying the same thing too.

By the time he waved Saionji goodnight in front of the hotel, everyone else was ensconced in their beds. All except Mioda, who leaned out her window to flash a wink and a V-sign. He returned the gesture, and she leaned back into her room. He made a mental note to thank her again when she woke up. That girl was amazing.

Clutching Koizumi’s photo as if it was Pekoyama herself, Kuzuryuu swung open the door to his cottage. Before stepping inside, he looked towards the stars once more. In the night sky, they were a canvas of shimmering lights packed close together, but if he could fly close to them, he’d see how far apart they truly were. Yet without clouds or fog to obscure them, the stars glimmered brighter than he’d ever noticed, the white flashes winking at him from above.


End file.
